


The Pleasures of the Senses

by Philomytha



Series: Alys/Simon fics [19]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Bujold
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-05
Updated: 2010-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alys and Simon at Gregor's wedding. Romantic fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pleasures of the Senses

Simon folded his arms and watched Alys exchanging elegant courtesies with the Cetagandan ambassador and his entourage. He thought these were the last of the high-ranking guests she would have to see off personally, but it was always possible that he'd forgotten someone. He was staying well back for these exchanges, as he did for all Alys' formal work. His affair with Alys was no secret, but it would be inappropriate on many levels for him to put himself into the spotlight in diplomatic work. He and his men had spent too many years engaged in a quiet war with some of the guests Alys was now charming. Besides, he always hated being in the public gaze.

He had played up his forgetfulness several times tonight and at other parties in the lead-up to the wedding. It was hard to do even when he knew he was faking his lapses of memory and concentration: the pretended mistakes were too close to the real ones he would never stop making now, and some of Alys' winces were unfeigned. Simon wasn't sure whether he more disliked the thinly concealed schadenfreude in the eyes of the Komarrans and Cetagandans, or the pity from the more neutral guests, though the people who spoke to him in kindly, simplified phrases were the worst of all. It was increasingly difficult for him to shut down his emotional reactions to these kind of things; it seemed that was a box that, once opened, could not be closed at will.

Alys made a final graceful curtsey in the Cetagandan mode, the Cetagandan haut-lord kissed her hand and turned away, and Alys stood smiling as they left. As soon as they were out of sight, she caught his eye. Simon went to her side.

"That's it," Alys said, sliding her arm through his. "They're the last. It's finished."

Even now, Simon knew the expression on her face and the weary triumph in her voice intimately: she had reached the end of a long, exhausting but ultimately successful campaign.

"You were amazing," he said. "I wish my operations had always gone as smoothly."

"I'm just very glad it's over." She leaned against him with a sigh. "Gregor and Laisa should be safely at their destination by now, and all the diplomatic delegations are gone. I don't need to stay for the rest of the guests."

"I hope they enjoy their honeymoon." Simon didn't ask where they had gone. Alys likely knew, but he had no need-to-know these days.

"They should." Alys gave a little giggle that told him exactly how tired she was. "Though it won't be the first time for them. Did you know Cordelia insisted I let them go off together unchaperoned?" She grimaced. "I can see her point, but if any of the older countesses had known I'd winked at it I'd never have heard the end of it. Laisa's going to have enough to worry about without the old cats clawing at her for _that_. The Dowager Countess Vorbohn was campaigning for a virginity test at one point; I was hard put not to remind her of her youngest daughter's little boy born six months after the girl was married."

Simon smiled. "Well, I'm sure Laisa will manage to deal with it. She seems extremely capable." That was something Simon knew how to appreciate in women. He looked around. There were still plenty of guests in the gardens, laughing and talking and dancing. "Shall we make our escape, then? You must be exhausted."

"Completely." But Alys held her head up as they made their way back across the garden past the District stalls that were still attracting hungry revellers. Simon's eye was caught by a twinkling flash of blue, and he paused. Alys turned to follow his gaze.

"Oh, the Vorkosigan stand. Are those their, er, insects?"

"I think so." They'd had no time to explore the stands this evening, though Alys had surely seen lists of their contents. "They're rather ... changed."

"I wouldn't approve it until Lord Mark promised me that he wouldn't be displaying any of the ones we saw at that dinner party. He did show me some quite promising drawings."

They moved nearer, Simon steering Alys wide of a party of very drunk young officers. A path cleared for them to the front of the stand, where a cage of twinkling Vorkosigan Butter Bugs was prominently displayed.

"Good heavens," Alys said. "That is an improvement."

They were beautiful, at least as beautiful as insects could get. Simon wasn't particularly fond of bugs, but these were remarkable. There was a stack of empty plastic bowls and spoons to one side, and Ma Kosti was saying, "I'm sorry, we're all out--" to a disappointed-looking guest.

"Cleaned out?" he asked. She and the guest both looked around, and the guest backed away as he recognised Simon. Simon's lip quirked.

"Of the ambrosia?" Ma Kosti said. "It's been a wonderful success, sir."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Alys politely.

Ma Kosti ducked her head, then leaned down under the table. "Not quite cleaned out, sir," she said. "For you..." and she gave him a maternal smile that he recognised from his convalescence at Vorkosigan House, when she had taken it as her personal mission in life to feed him up. She produced a little bowl heaped with the mysterious ambrosia and then, with a glance at them both, two spoons. "You should pick up some of the shortbread from Vormoncrief's District, it goes very well with the ambrosia."

"Thank you," Simon said. He scooped up the bowl, returned Ma Kosti's smile and offered his arm to Alys again.

"You surely can't be hungry after that banquet," Alys said as they made their way on through the crowds.

"I wanted to try this," Simon replied serenely. "And the banquet was ..." he fell short, unable to call up the precise elapsed time from his memory "... hours ago," he finished.

"It does smell good," Alys said, and if she had noticed his hesitation, she didn't show it. "Lord Mark is going to make his fortune selling it."

"Another fortune," Simon pointed out.

"Ha. Yes."

There were some comfortable benches amongst the flower displays, and after collecting the recommended shortbread, Simon led the way towards a vacant one, sheltered from the crowds by some carefully pruned shrubbery. Alys sat with a sigh of relief. A burst of fireworks went off overhead, making Simon tense for a moment before he realised it wasn't a missile strike. He balanced the bowl on his knee and tasted the ambrosia himself first in accordance with good Barrayaran manners. Even after an evening of the finest food the palace kitchens could create, it was special.

He scooped up another spoonful and glanced at Alys. "Would you like some?"

In answer, Alys let her lips part, and they shared the ambrosia like teenage lovers, their faces close together. Simon watched Alys in endless fascination, and was bathed in her answering warm gaze. Simon had watched the Imperial Wedding as a piece of public theatre, but at last it felt romantic as well, as Alys' contagious tension finally began to unwind.

Alys gave the grounds a sweeping, assessing gaze, then jumped as another burst of fireworks went off. "It's all going fine," Simon said. "Everyone's having a good time, the biggest security headaches are over now and the fireworks are lovely."

"They are, aren't they? The best display in years, the technicans promised."

They watched coloured stars burst and dance in the clear night sky, Alys nodding judiciously as she recognised particular arrangements she had ordered. There had been a bigger display earlier in the evening, this was only one of the lesser sets, but nonetheless beautiful. Simon recalled discussing some of the arrangements with Alys--or, more accurately, listening to Alys debate aesthetics with herself whilst he put in the odd encouraging or critical comment when she paused for breath. Previously, his only concern with fireworks had been whether the chem-scans were calibrated well enough detect anything dangerous before they were let off.

When the last burst of fireworks went off--an arrangement in the form of a wedding star, with the Imperial colours in the centre--Alys leaned back and closed her eyes. "I never," she said, "want to hear the word 'wedding' again."

"Not even if it's Ivan?" Simon said teasingly.

"Ivan's had his chance. If he wants to get married he'll have to organise it himself." She grimaced. "He's not going to marry a Barrayaran woman anyway, any more than Gregor would. That's been clear to me for a while. I'd hoped, when he was on Earth..."

"He'll get there in the end, I daresay." Simon smiled. "And if he doesn't--well, even those of us who haven't ever married can serve our Emperor."

That made Alys blink at him. "I... yes, you're right, of course. It's just..." She fell silent, then began, "Do you remember..." She hesitated, and Simon nodded. Few people dared say those words around him now, but Alys had a free pass. "Do you remember that time at the ambassadorial dinner, four years ago, when we danced?"

Simon tried to cudgel his mind into action, though the wine from dinner and the toasts wasn't helping. Ambassadorial dinner. Dancing. Once, those keywords would have been enough to cross-reference his memories and then confirm by the date. Now that wouldn't work. He followed the emotions instead. Dancing with Alys had been his one rare secret indulgence through the past decade, and he remembered the occasions more clearly than most things. But which one was the ambassadorial dinner... ah. A single image floated to the surface of his mind: Alys, leaning against a closed door, laughing so hard he'd wondered if she was drunk.

"Yes," he said. "I remember."

If you could call it remembering. One image connected to others, with strange gaps in between them, as if he'd somehow pre-selected the highlights of the evening and saved them whilst discarding the rest. Alys explaining something about Gregor and courting. The sound of the band in the next room, playing a minuet. Alys, still laughing, taking his hand and saying... something he couldn't remember. The steps of the minuet. His comm sounding halfway through, a suspicious package at Vorbohn Station... or was it a key Komarran terrorist arrested at the shuttleport? Some work interruption, anyway, and he'd had to leave Alys and music and laughter and dancing without looking back.

"What was it you were laughing about?" he asked.

Alys gave the most honest smile he'd seen on her face all day. "Yes, that's the time I meant. It was this girl, Irene Vorkalloner, and she was absolutely desperate to please Gregor, and he was equally desperate to get away from her, and it was one of the funniest things I'd seen in a long time. Poor boy, he hated those Vor girls I put through their paces for him, and that evening ... well, she was a mistake, but I was getting desperate too."

"With reason," Simon said.

"Perhaps. But anyway. I told you that evening I thought I'd never get Gregor safely married, and you told me you'd never see me fail at anything I put my mind to. But I think I've failed with Ivan, in some ways."

"Just because he's not married?"

"And other things. He sees himself as second to Miles, even with me... well, anyway." She sat up again, and Simon looked away. Alys didn't talk about Ivan often, and whilst he had his own ideas about Ivan's weaknesses and strengths, he didn't try to force them on her.

"Ivan's a fine young man," was all he said.

Alys nodded, then swallowed the last spoonful of the ambrosia, gave the grounds another surveying gaze and settled back into his arms. Simon gave himself over to holding her, wanting nothing more than to stay in this moment. It would pass and be gone, and he would never be able to replay it. He let himself absorb all the sensations: her warm breathing weight pressing into him, soft yielding curves and the sharp corners of bones, the aroma of her perfume overlaying the faint, immediately recognisable musk that was her body's scent, the response it stirred in his own body. Then Alys yawned, and reality broke in on his reverie.

"Time to go?" he asked. Alys sat up, rolling her shoulders and smoothing her dress.

"I think so." She yawned again. "If we stay here any longer I'm going to fall asleep in front of everyone."

Simon waited whilst she disentangled her skirts from him--there were all these delicate bits of lace and cutwork that looked like they ought to snag on everything in sight, and it was a testimony to how practised Alys was at managing them that it wasn't until now that he had even noticed her careful movements.

"I'll just speak to Lord Vortala before we go," Alys said as they worked their way through the garden.

"He's done well," said Simon judiciously. "And I must say, I am very glad it wasn't me in the hot seat, because I bet his night isn't going to be over for a good while yet."

"Probably not, but I think I started earlier this morning. He could just put his uniform on, after all."

"You look wonderful," said Simon, since that seemed to be required to fill the conversational gap.

Alys leaned on his arm. "It's at about this time in the evening that I start thinking Betan sarongs have their merits. This dress weighs nine kilograms alone, and the flowers itch."

Simon pictured Alys in a Betan sarong, and squeezed her hand. "We'll get you home," he said, "and tomorrow you don't even have to get out of bed if you like."

"Tomorrow," Alys said with a sigh, "the diplomatic rounds will be continuing. But not till the afternoon, in deference to everyone's hangovers."

Simon winced slightly, both at the lapse of memory and the prospect of the diplomatic rounds. Though they would be an order of magnitude simpler with Gregor off on his honeymoon instead of causing protocol headaches here. They went through a colonnade, where Colonel Lord Vortala came up to them and saluted Alys unironically. Simon kept his face straight.

"Everything has gone well," he said. "My men are keeping an eye on the drunk-and-disorderlies now, but apart from that little incident with the Tau Cetan attaché we haven't had anything worth mentioning."

"Good." Alys smiled. "Please convey my personal thanks to your men. And by the time I get here tomorrow I want to know that you've been home to sleep."

Vortala smiled back at her. "Yes, my lady." He nodded to Simon. "Good night, sir, my lady."

Alys stumbled over her skirts twice on the way to the porte-cochere where her groundcar was waiting. Simon had never seen her so tired before. He settled her in the rear compartment, then bent in to kiss her goodnight.

"Aren't you coming with me?" she asked as he stepped away.

Simon blinked. "I thought you'd want to go home and rest."

"And what makes you think I can't do that if you come?" She extended a hand to him. "Come on, my dear. I've been told that weddings are supposed to be romantic occasions."

He grinned. "Where ever did you get that idea?"

"Gregor said so this morning."

"When I saw him this morning he couldn't manage complete sentences."

"That was later." Alys made a gesture to the rear compartment of her groundcar. "So, come and be romantic."

The ImpSec driver looked more wooden than usual as Simon sat down, and Simon shot him a glower that didn't entirely succeed. He was still chary of riding in the same vehicle as Alys, even though he knew they really weren't more likely to be attacked in a groundcar together than they were sitting at a restaurant or theatre together. Also, due to this wedding, ImpSec was apparently more worried about someone attacking him as a lever on Alys than someone attacking Alys because of him, which at least had the charm of novelty. He thought that anyone who did try that would be severely misunderstanding Alys, since he knew she would not be emotionally destroyed if he were killed, but rather lethally enraged.

"Well, that's over."

"At least until we have to do the whole thing again on Komarr."

Simon hadn't actually forgotten that, despite his best attempts. For some reason, if there was something he particularly wanted to forget, he remembered it vividly. He'd hoped that without the chip that wouldn't happen, but so far it didn't seem to work that way. Imperial visits to Komarr were invariably security nightmares, and this would be as bad as anything he'd ever had to manage, perhaps even worse than Aral's state visit to the Massacre Shrine.

"I'm still not sure I should go to that," he said. "It will only make the security problem worse. I'm not popular on Komarr."

"Gregor wants you there," Alys said simply. "Also, I suspect that everyone from Vortala downwards wants you to come in the hope that you'll distract me from their mistakes."

Simon grinned. "That's because they don't know you." Alys' pillow talk could range over new fashions, court gossip, correct manners and state secrets in five minutes. Simon was content to listen, enjoying the entwinement of trivialities and critically important pieces of data. Alys' conclusions were invariably correct, but she reached them by methods that never would have occurred to any ImpSec or political analyst, drawing together information about hemline lengths, the way someone pronounced vowels in Greek, and a snub at a naming party to deduce how a count would vote on some obscure question. Before he'd lost the chip, there hadn't been many people who could surprise him, but Alys' observations and deductions had often made him see the world differently.

The groundcar skimmed smoothly along through streets much busier than usual at this time of night with all the extra wedding traffic. Alys sat back. "I don't think I forgot to do anything," she said wearily, "but there's bound to be something. The Betan ambassador--"

"It'll keep," Simon said. "Gregor's married and nothing blew up, so everything else is optional."

"Is that how you ran ImpSec?"

"When I could get away with it, yes. You have to stop somewhere." He reached out to her. "Come here."

Alys allowed him to draw her close, and let her head sink on his shoulder. She was half-asleep by the time they reached her building. Simon stroked her cheek. "Alys. You're home."

She blinked at him, then struggled up. Simon slid his arm around her and led her to the door. "I have never," she said, "been so tired in my life."

"Are you sure you don't want me to leave you in peace?"

Alys gave a tired snort. "Come on in, love, stop dawdling. I may be going to go straight to sleep now, but there's always the morning." She made an impatient gesture.

Simon had obeyed orders his entire adult life. "Yes, my lady," he said, and followed her in.


End file.
